Who Wants to Live Forever
by AhmoseInarus
Summary: For the CCOAC Crossover Challenge-Follows my one shot, "Dust In the Wind", please read that first!-An aging Penelope Garcia receives a visitor late at night. A man named Duncan MacLeod comes bearing the news that her Immortal friend, Spencer Reid, sought out his own death after losing the love of his life, Aaron Hotchner. He offered the Highlander his head...


Who Wants to Live Forever

Ahmose Inarus

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own "Criminal Minds" or "Highlander: The Series". I do not make any profit off of writing this story.

Mentioned SLASH

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This was written for the Crossover Challenge on the Chit Chat on Author's Corner Forum.

Your chosen crossover character: Duncan MacLeod

Your chosen crossover show: Highlander: The Series

Your assigned Criminal Minds character: Penelope Garcia

* * *

I recommend that you read my story "Dust In The Wind" before reading this, or you may be a bit lost…

* * *

Coast of the Chesapeake Bay

Late March

10:42 PM

* * *

It was about forty one degrees, Fahrenheit. A sharp breeze blew, accompanying a cold rain that stung with the occasional bits of ice; the last fighting blows of winter… The wind could be heard whistling through the grasses on the beach, and beyond that, the angry roar of the waves pounding against the sandy beach, and all the way up to the jagged rocks just beyond the sand.

Headlights appeared on the road, heading towards the small cul-de-sac of houses at the end of the road and on the edge of the beach. It was a black 1964 Thunderbird convertible with a white canopy, which was sealed up tight. It pulled up to a house that was quite colorful in comparison to its neighbors, complete with pink flamingo lawn ornaments. The car stopped and its headlights turned off. A moment later, tall man stepped out of the driver's side. Another man, shorter, stepped out of the passenger side.

"You don't have to come with me." Said the taller as they made their way up the front walk.

"… Yes I do." Said the other.

They reached the front door. The taller man took a deep breath, then reached up and knocked. A few seconds later, a light turned on and the door cracked open. An old woman peered out at them, eyes narrowed.

"… You look official." She said, suspicion in her tone. "Why do you look official?"

"Penelope Garcia?" Said the tallest of the pair. She nodded. "May we come in?"

"… I used to work for the FBI, boys." The old woman snorted, a wry smirk curling her lips. "I don't let strange people into my house. Especially when they look like they could be hit men."

The two men blinked, startled, but then both smiled and nodded in amusement and understanding.

"Here… I was told to give you this." Said the taller, and he reached into his pocket and drew out what looked like a wallet. He offered it to her and she took it, flipping it open. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, and she paled slightly.

"Oh…" She breathed, and then looked up at the two men in shock. "He… sent you?"

"Yes." Said the man. A moment later, Garcia closed the door. They heard the rattling of a chain being removed, and then it opened again. They stepped in, wiping their wet feet on the doormat.

"Please… let me take your coats." Garcia offered. The two men glanced at one another, and then removed their coats and then, Garcia's eyes widened. From the folds of their trench coats, emerged swords. Garcia inspected these two men even more now…

The shortest of the pair had a bit of a British sounding accent, a strong nose and harsh features with short dark hair. He wore jeans, a black turtleneck and a gray sweater over it. The sword he carried appeared to be a Medieval Broadsword.

The other man spoke with a rich Scottish accent and wore black slacks and a dark green button up shirt. His dark hair fell to his shoulder blades and was pulled back neatly at the base of his skull, a pewter Celtic knot on the hair tie. The sword that he placed in the Umbrella stand, following his companion's example, was a katana, the dragon head hilt carved from ivory.

The two men faced Garcia.

"You're… like him…" And she looked down at the wallet within her hand. Within were familiar FBI Credentials with the word RETIRED stamped across them in red… but beneath that read the name…

SSA Dr. Spencer Reid.

"He sent you?"

"Yes." Said the taller man.

"Who are you?"

"I am Duncan MacLeod."

"Is… Is he okay?" Garcia asked.

"Please… let's sit down. There's… a lot to tell." Said the shorter man.

Garcia eyed them, but then nodded and guided them into the living room saying "I'll make some hot chocolate…"

The two men nodded, and sat down on the purple sofa.

"Interesting décor…" The shorter man mused, looking around. Then he stood and moved over to the mantel, looking over the photos.

"Methos…" Scolded MacLeod.

"What?"

"Don't snoop, it's not polite."

"It's not snooping, Duncan, they're right here for all to see. And look." He picked up a frame and carried it over, sitting down on the sofa beside his friend and showing it to him. "Here he is." And he pointed to a tall and gangly youth with tousled chestnut curls and a brilliant smile on his face.

"… I hardly even recognize him…" MacLeod murmured, frowning and taking the picture.

"He always said that those were the best years of his life." The two men looked up at Garcia. "Out of all seven hundred of them."

"How much do you know?" MacLeod asked, handing her the picture.

"I know that he's Immortal." Garcia admitted, slowly sitting down on the sofa across from her two visitors. "I know about The Game… How you guys… run around and kill each other by… by decapitation… To um…"

"… To take their Quickening." MacLeod finished for her. "This Quickening is the transfer of knowledge and power from the dead, to the victor." Garcia nodded her understanding. "Do you know why we do it?"

"Reid said that… you didn't get a choice. It's kill or be killed. Because in the end…"

"There can be only one." MacLeod once again finished for her, and once again, she nodded. For a long time, they were all silent, sipping the hot chocolate that she had brought for them. It was Garcia who finally broke the silence.

"I haven't heard from him in nearly three years… not since… Hotch… Aaron Hotchner died… I was afraid that Reid would… you know… seek out his own…" She trailed off , staring down into her mug.

MacLeod sighed and set down his own mug, reaching out and covering the woman's hands around her mug with his own. Slowly, she lifted her tear filled eyes to meet his.

They were a dark brown, and seemed too deep to fathom. But there, floating on the surface for her to see without any attempt to hide it was sympathy, sadness, guilt and grief. And in a choked voice he said softly, "He did."

Garcia stared at the man for a long time, trembling. The mug finally slipped from her fingers and he deftly caught it and set it aside taking her hands and holding them within his own.

"You're like him." She gasped after a moment. "And you came to tell me. It was one of you who killed him."

"It was." MacLeod confirmed.

"Who was it?"

"What?"

"I want to know his name. Who killed my baby genius?"

MacLeod swallowed a lump in his throat and wet his lips before saying, "I did."

Garcia stared at him, and after a moment the tears cascaded down her cheeks. She doubled over and sobbed, resting her forehead on his warms hands, which still held her fingers within them.

She cried for a long time, nearly twenty minutes. Methos slunk out of the room as she began to quiet down, and returned a moment later with a glass of water from the kitchen. She accepted it and sipped it slowly.

After she calmed down, she looked up at MacLeod. "You?" He nodded. "You uh…" And she glanced at the Katana in the umbrella stand, a shudder running down her spine.

"I took his head." MacLeod confessed, his tone somber. "And his Quickening." Garcia visibly flinched, and then gulped.

"With…?" She whispered, and he followed her gaze.

"Yes." He confirmed with a nod. "That is the sword that did it." Garcia stared at the blade for a long time, with the dragon on the hilt leering at her as if it was reveling in her anguish.

"Why?" She breathed. "Why did you…?"

"Because… he asked me to." MacLeod said, and Garcia felt her stomach fill with ice.

"He… Oh God… But… he sent you… to see me?" Garcia asked, and MacLeod nodded. "He asked you to do it, and he sent you to tell me. He must have trusted you. A lot. You must have been good friends."

"… I hardly knew him." MacLeod confessed. "I only met him twice. The first, when he asked it of me. And the second, when I granted his request."

"But… Why?" She asked, frowning in conclusion. "Why you?"

"I can answer that." Said the other man. She looked at him.

"Penelope…" MacLeod said. "This is Methos." Garcia looked at the other man and gave him a slight smile.

"Methos, hm? That name sounds old."

"You have no idea." Methos said with a wry smile. "But I suppose it's only fair to give you my story in a nutshell… I'm over 5,000 years old." Garcia's eyes widened. "I am the eldest of us all. And that's why Spencer came to me. He and I met about two hundred years ago. We keep in touch from time to time… and a year and a half ago, he made contact. He wanted to meet with me…"

He sighed and peered down into the depths of his mug as he remembered the meeting…

* * *

The man known to the public as Adam Pierson sat at the small table in the corner of the smoky bar, sipping his Guinness and listening to an amateur musician playing his acoustic guitar and singing "Dust In the Wind". He sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes lightly. The boy had a good voice, and his fingers were sure on the strings. It was the song itself that bothered him… It made him think of a friend… a very good friend, and the grief that man had suffered in his very long life… There was a reason that he avoided falling in love… and that reason was the pain that he saw in the eyes of his friend whenever HE thought back onto the loves he had lost over the years… That song seemed to bring his friend's pain to the forefront of his mind whenever he heard it, and so now it made him think of his friend and his pain…

He opened his eyes when he felt the unmistakable thrum of his internal warning system fill his mind. Another Immortal was near… His eyes opened. No longer nostalgic, they were sharp and alert. He was expecting one of his own kind, yes, but one could never be too careful. Let your guard down, and you lose your head…

His eyes darted to the door as it opened, and a tall, slender man stepped in. He relaxed, watching the man's eyes scan the bar. He lifted a hand, catching the attention of the man, who started towards him. As he got closer, he frowned and stood.

"Methos." Greeted the newcomer. "Thank you for meeting me." Methos nodded, eyeing the apparently young man up and down critically. Normally one for a friendly handshake or embrace, he knew his companion had an aversion to physical contact. And considering how he was fidgeting, he had an aversion to being scrutinized as he was right now…

"… You look like hell, Spencer." Methos finally said. Spencer Reid stared down at the eldest of the Immortals, then lowered his eyes and slowly sank into the chair across from where Methos was now taking his seat.

They sat in silence for a long time. Methos waited for Reid to bring up what was on his mind. He was patient. Hell, in his thousands of years of life, what were a few minutes? He waited, enjoying his Guinness.

When Reid finally spoke, he barely heard him.

"I'm done, Methos."

Methos set his glass down on the table and looked at his companion, waiting for him to continue.

"I can't do this. I… I'm not cut out for eternity."

"None of us are." Methos finally spoke. "Life is wrought with pain, suffering, sorrow and regret. Sometimes it's unbearable for someone living a normal lifetime. For us? We don't all have the luxury of death to end it. It's only a matter of time before it breaks us."

"I don't know how you've done it…" Reid murmured, blinking in reaction to the movement when Methos raised his hand to summon a waitress. She walked over and he murmured to her. She nodded and walked away. Reid still hadn't lifted his gaze from the floor.

"Honestly?" Methos sighed, finishing his beer, "I'm not so sure that death is the better of the two."

"Anything is better than… this…" Reid whispered. The waitress returned, bringing Methos another Guinness and setting down a brandy before Reid. After she left, Reid reached out for it. Methos watched the long trembling fingers curl under the glass to cup it in the palm, the stem fitted between the middle and ring fingers… He narrowed his eyes… the ring finger wore a ring…

His heart dropped into his stomach. He knew what had happened. Another Immortal made that timeless mistake… Spencer Reid had fallen in love with a mortal… and now he was grieving. That love had died. His mind immediately went back to that friend with the haunted eyes…

"Who was she?" He finally asked. A bitter smile curved the lips of his companion, and a single tear trailed down his defined cheek, so much more gaunt and pale than Methos had ever seen it before.

"… Aaron." Reid breathed, and lifted the glass to his dry and cracked lips, taking a sip. He winced slightly as the alcohol burned where the skin had split. "His name was Aaron Hotchner."

"… Him." Methos stated calmly, raising his eyebrows. Then he just sighed and took a sip of his own drink again. "I'm sorry."

"I told myself long ago… when I realized that I couldn't die… that I would never fall in love." He smiled slightly, and then finally looked up at Methos. "And I kept that promise. Until Aaron. And it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was able to give him everything. My heart, my body, my soul… something that no one else had ever been allowed to have before." Methos quirked a brow.

"No one?"

"None."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"… and mortals think a thirty year old virgin is something to be shameful of. How old were you?"

Reid allowed a smile of amusement to reach his lips at his friend's train of thought. "Six hundred seventy four, if you must know." He snorted, and sipped his brandy.

"Seriously?" Methos asked.

Reid nodded. "He was my first and only… I married him. And I felt whole. For the first time in my life. But now… Now he's gone. And I'm just… empty."

"Time heals all wounds." Methos said, but then his mind went back to his friend with the haunted eyes. "But… the scars will remain. Forever."

"I don't want to live scarred." Reid said, lowering his eyes again. "I CAN'T live with THIS one…"

"How long ago did you lose him? A week? A month?"

"… A year and a half." Reid confessed.

"That long?" Methos asked, sounding surprised.

"And it's still as raw as that first moment." Reid said firmly, and Methos watched the man's eyes close, tears flooding down his cheeks. "I'm not a fighter, Methos. I never was. I've traveled the world since he died. I've tried to move on. But I CAN'T! I've been lucky. I've been hiding on Holy Ground. Moving from site to site." He looked up again, eyes desperate beneath his chestnut tangles. "But one of these days, someone will catch up with me. Someone will raise their sword against me, and there will be no Holy Ground. And when that happens… I don't think I'll have it in me to fight back…" Methos stared at him, no expression on his face. "My days are numbered, Methos. I want to die. I've wanted to die since the moment HE died."

"So… why come to me?" The eldest finally asked.

"You were once a part of the Watchers." Reid said. "You have encountered thousands of our kind in your life time, and you've read even more of their Chronicles." Methos nodded. "I want to give up my head. But I won't give it up to just anyone." Reid looked Methos dead in the eye. "I want you to help me find someone who is truly worthy to be the One. And they will have my Quickening."

Methos' mind was racing. It raced through all the possibilities. Names and faces flitted across his mind's eye… but coming to the forefront more and more by the moment, were those haunted eyes…

"… I think I can help you." Methos said with a nod. "I need to get in touch with someone. Meet me here in one week. And I'll have what you're asking for." And he finished his drink and stood, tossing some money down onto the table and walking out of the bar without another word or glance at Spencer Reid…

* * *

"He met me a week later, as agreed…" Methos recited. "And I gave him the Chronicles of seven. The seven men and women that in all of my years, out of everyone I had ever met, I believed were truly worthy to be the last of us… He took them. And he read them, and he profiled them. It was nearly a month later before he contacted me again. And we met again. He had made a decision. But he wanted to hear from me. He told me not to give any reasons for my choices. He simply asked me to tell him the name of the one Immortal that I thought was worthy to be the One. And I did."

"And?" Garcia asked.

"We had both come to the same name. Duncan MacLeod."

"So…" Garcia said softly. "He sought you out." And she looked at MacLeod, who nodded.

"It was in Boston." MacLeod said, leaning back into the sofa. "I was actually in the process of transitioning lives at the time, and preparing to leave the country. He caught me by surprise… he almost lost his head right then and there to be honest…" And he gave a smile of amusement at the memory. He glanced over at the photo that lay on the coffee table. "The Spencer Reid that came to see me was… NOT the man in that picture…" He said softly, and fell into the memory.

* * *

The dark haired man walked down the street that was equally dark. A Nor' Easter had rolled in, and it was snowing. He had the collar of his coat pulled up, and a knit woolen cap on his head. The snow crunched pleasantly under his boots. He approached corner and immediately tensed as the tell-tale vibes throbbed through his being, alerting him to the presence of another soul out on that cold street. He slipped a gloved hand into his coat and turned the corner.

Immediately, two men surged into action, somehow startled by the very presence that they had been aware of, and had been expecting to meet up with. Two swords flashed under the streetlights, sparks fell as they clashed once, twice, and then the slighter of the two was shoved into the wall and the stronger leapt back on light feet. He held his blade ready.

"I am Duncan MacLeod…" His voice was deep, and seemed to echo harshly off of the pavement. "Of the Clan MacLeod." He watched as the other slowly lowered his sword.

"… Reid. Spencer Reid." Came the soft reply. "Please… I mean you no harm. I do not wish to fight you." And after a moment, MacLeod lowered his blade. "I've been looking for you."

"You've found me." MacLeod stated simply. Reid paused, and then completely tucked his sword away into his long coat. Then he held out a hand, gesturing across the street. MacLeod turned. Looming over them, it's image softened by the snow, stood St. Botolph's Church. He looked back to the boy named Reid, then nodded and headed for the church. Reid was soon walking beside him. The pair said nothing as they stepped onto Holy Ground, where the mortal combat that they were expected to pursue, was forbidden for all Immortals. They pushed the doors open, and stepped inside. It was dimly lit, and candles were glowing. They stood at the back of the rows of pews, and stared up at the magnificent interior of the old church.

And like Methos before him, MacLeod said nothing. He waited patiently for the man beside him to speak. And after a moment, Reid did so.

"I've read your Chronicle, Highlander." He said, and the Scot turned and looked at him, not expecting to hear that.

"My Chronicle."

"Yes."

"How did you—"

"A mutual friend." Reid said, finally looking up at the taller man, and giving him a slight smile. MacLeod met his eyes for a long moment, then looked down at his feet, the shadow of a smile on his face.

"Methos."

"Yes." Reid confirmed, and as one, they began to slowly make their way up the aisle between the pews, towards the altar. "I read several Chronicles. Seven, to be exact. But it was yours that stood out."

"Did it now?"

"I wish I could have met you long ago, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Reid said, smiling as the man gave him a look. "You're a true man amongst Immortals." And he finally looked up and met the eyes of the Highlander again. "You're more human than most of us will be. And stronger than most of us could only hope to be. Your honor is unquestionable, your morals unbreakable. You have the strength, courage and skill that we all strive for, but you have the wisdom that most of us neglect to develop." They reached the end of the aisle, and Reid turned to face MacLeod directly. The man turned to meet him face to face, and they stared into each other's eyes.

"You are what every man should strive to be." Reid said, and MacLeod blinked, not quite sure how to respond to that. "Up until a few years ago, I was Criminal Profiler for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. I study human behavior. I can read a person, or their Chronicle, and I can see beyond it. I can see who you really are. I know you, MacLeod, maybe even better than you know yourself."

"You don't know me." MacLeod said, frowning. "You've only read my Chronicle. And that isn't me."

"It's historical record." Reid said, cocking his head slightly. He could sense a growing hostility in the Highlander. "I know where you were born and grew. I know where you've gone, what you've done, what you have fought for and what you have walked away from. I know who you've killed… and who you've spared." Reid continued, his voice beginning to tremble. "And I know who you've loved… and who you've lost…" MacLeod remained stone faced as he watched the tears breached the golden brown eyes that had unknowingly pinned him in place. "And I know you've kept going. You've grieved, and moved on. You've stayed strong. You let that pain make you stronger. And you love all the more for it. They've all made you stronger…"

And MacLeod's skeptical look, Reid smiled. "I have an eidetic memory, MacLeod. I assure you… I remember every name of every woman a Watcher has ever recorded you loving… And I know how you've lost them…" MacLeod scowled and looked away. "I know how you lost Little Deer and her son…" MacLeod's jaw tightened, and grief flashed through his smoky eyes. "I know about Tessa." Reid pushed, and MacLeod turned his back on him. Reid took a tentative step forward. "I know about Richie."

"YOU KNOW NOTHING!" MacLeod shouted, the agony ringing clear in his voice as he turned on Reid, as if to strike him. But Reid never flinched. He simply stared up into the blazing eyes, and a searing pain shot through his heart… those eyes… Dear God…

Aaron's eyes… so dark they were almost black… piercing straight through to his soul… So intense they one would think that a single look would be enough to kill, and yet he could see that they would show the same warmth and tenderness when casting his gaze upon the one he loved. And in the moment, Reid was unable to hold back the flood of tears.

MacLeod stared down into the honey brown eyes, stunned at the levels of devastation that he saw in them.

"You've suffered every loss imaginable." Reid gasped out, his voice high and quivering. "And you're still as strong as ever. While it only took one to completely destroy me." MacLeod said nothing. He just stared at Reid.

"I never wanted to be this." Reid finally continued. "All I wanted was to grow old and die with the one I love. But the years passed and he grew old while I stayed the same! And then he died! And I'm still here! And I HATE IT!" He screamed the last two words, a shrill cry of pain and loathing. "I hate it! I don't want to live while all those I care for die! I don't want to take part in this barbaric Game!" And he pulled his sword from his coat and flung it down on the floor between them before fisting his hands into his hair. "I don't want to kill just to continue living this empty life! I can't do it! I'm done… I'm DONE!"

With a soft hiss, a candle went out at its wick reached the pool of melted wax that it surrounded.

For a long time, neither man said anything.

"… You could be the One, Highlander." Reid finally spoke, his voice soft and calm again. "You SHOULD be the One. Out of all of us, you are the man that I think should take the Prize. Because you are the one who has the heart of a Man, and the wisdom of Gods and the strength to truly be Immortal. And because I believe this, with every fiber of my being… I want YOU to take my Quickening."

"… No." MacLeod said, and then he turned, and strode away. Reid stared after him.

"I'm offering you my head, MacLeod." He called after the man. "Because if you don't take it, the next Immortal I come across will. When I leave this place, I'll not carry my sword with me."

MacLeod stopped, nearly to the door.

"I'm broken." Reid continued. "When I lost the one I loved, I lost my will to live. It's been over a year and a half, and that hasn't changed. I'll end my life, with or without you. But while I haven't taken many heads myself, I on my own am carrying more knowledge than you can imagine. I'm a genius, MacLeod. I have, over the course of the last century, earned forty seven PhD's." Slowly, MacLeod turned and looked at him. "I have an eidetic memory, an IQ of 187 and I can read 20'000 words per minute. Do you have any idea how much I could have read, and memorized for all time, over seven hundred years?" Slowly, Reid began to approach him. "I've hidden myself away in monasteries, libraries and Universities all my life… until I finally, for the first time ever, fell in love. I'll end my life with or without your help." He reached the other Immortal, and stared him in the eyes. "But I don't want my knowledge, and abilities, to go to just anyone. I want you to take my Quickening, because you are worthy. You should be the One, Highlander. And I want to help you be the One. Please. I want you to take this."

"And if I don't?"

"… then I'll hope that I can reach Methos before another Immortal gets to me first… and then I'll pray that Methos will do what you would not." MacLeod turned away, his brow furrowed in thought.

Finally, he spoke up and said, "May I think about it?"

"… I'll wait here. Just… don't keep me waiting too long." Reid said with a nod. "It won't be long before this pain forces me out of this sanctuary to flirt with death…"

MacLeod nodded, and then turned and left, disappearing into the dark snow.

And Reid waited. He remained in the church, with the blessing of the priest, for two days. It was sunset when he felt the presence of another Immortal. He stood from where he was sitting on the front pew and turned. A moment later, the door of the church opened.

"Have you reached a decision?" Reid called gently, not bothering with a prelude.

"I have." MacLeod replied. Reid waited silently. "I'll do it." Reid let out the breath he had been holding, and his entire being relaxed in its relief. "But there's one condition." MacLeod added suddenly. Reid blinked.

"And that is?"

"You've read my Chronicle."

"Yes."

"So you know about my cabin."

"On the island. You got permission from the local Native Americans to build it on Holy Ground hundreds of years ago."

"I did." MacLeod confirmed with a nod. "I'm taking you there."

"There? Why?"

"I want you to stay there. For one year."

"A year?" Reid cried, sounding horrified.

"I want you to think about the people that you've loved, and lost." MacLeod went on as if Reid had never interrupted. "I want you to think about what you've done during your life, and what you could still do. I want you to think about what you're asking me to do, and think about what you would do if someone had come to you with this request. And I want you to think about the man you loved… and consider what he would think of this."

Reid was staring hard at the floor now, thinking.

"And after one year, I'll return. And if you still want me to do it… I will. Do you accept?"

* * *

Garcia was staring at MacLeod. "What did he say?" She asked.

"… He agreed." MacLeod said with a nod. "The very next day, we began the trip. It took a few days to get there, and he wasn't very handy with a canoe," MacLeod grinned at that memory, and Garcia grinned as well with a wry "I can imagine."

MacLeod chuckled but continued, "and I left him on the island. The cabin was in good order, I left him with a large supply of canned and preserved food, and showed him where around the island I had produce growing. Some of it had flourished, a couple had died, but there would be enough to sustain him for a year. And I left him there."

"And a year later, MacLeod asked me to speak with Spencer's Watcher." Methos picked up the tale. "She had watched MacLeod take Spencer to the island, and had maintained a discrete watch, but Spencer never left the island. When the time came for MacLeod to return to see him, we invited her to come along. She agreed. If the Chronicle of Spencer Reid was to come to end, she wanted to be there to witness it, and record in faithful detail, HOW it ended. And so the three of us ended up in that God awful canoe, and went out to the island…"

Garcia watched the two men as their eyes glazed over. Both were staring into the fireplace, the flames reflecting on their dark brown orbs…

* * *

Fifty seven year old Kate Bedore sat in the middle of the canoe, a man before her and a man behind her, paddling the canoe smoothly through the water. The mist was rising from the dark waters and drifting into the black forests around them. In the distance, a wolf was heard howling, and a moment later an owl answered just beyond the riverbank…

They brought the canoe just around the river bend, and light blazed into their eyes. The island was before them, and a bonfire was burning on the beach. And sitting before it, gazing out onto the water, was Spencer Reid. As the canoe drew closer he stood, and the three people within it frowned. His hair had grown out so that it fell nearly halfway down his back. He had lost a lot of weight. He looked almost emaciated. He was no longer wearing his wedding band on his finger… he had lost too much weight. It was now being worn on a black cord around his neck. He was wearing what MacLeod recognized as a pair of pajamas that had been left in the closet years ago, plain white linen pants and button up shirt, and despite the frigid temperatures, he wasn't wearing anything else… not even shoes… The canoe hit the bottom and Methos stood, stepping out and offering a hand to Kate. She wasted no time, walking across the beach to Spencer Reid. Reid stared at her.

She looked him up and down and then lifted a hand to her mouth, tears coming to her eyes. Reid cocked his head. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.

"Spencer… my name is Kate." She said. "And… I'm your Watcher." Realization dawned on Reid and his eyes widened slightly.

"I see." He said, his voice hoarse and lifeless…

"I've been watching you for over thirty five years." She confessed. "I… I hate seeing you like this."

"… I'm sorry, Kate." Reid said softly. "You… know how much I loved him."

"I know how much you still love him." Kate nodded, and slowly lifted a hand. Reid simply closed his eyes, feeling her trembling fingers caress his cheek and then run through his hair. She choked back a sob. "I'm sorry…" She gasped. "I just…"

"You've watched him for thirty five years." Methos said as he and MacLeod approached. "You can't help but get attached." Kate nodded.

"You've decided." MacLeod announced, and Reid looked at him.

"I have." He replied. "I haven't changed my mind. Life's not worth living without Aaron. I'm ready to join him."

The pair stared one another in the eyes for a long time, and then MacLeod simply nodded and removed his coat, pulling his dragon head Katana from the folds. Kate took one look at the blade and a sob was ripped from her chest. To her surprise, long, thin arms suddenly wrapped around her.

"I'm sorry." Reid murmured, and she closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, relishing the feel of being held by the man that she had Watched for over half of her life. Finally, she stepped away and stared up at him.

"I'm not going to try to talk you out of it." She said, her voice trembling. "Because I know how much pain you've been in. It's just…" She trailed off for a moment before putting on a loving smile and placing her hands on his smooth cheeks. "You're one of the good ones. And I love you."

"Thank you, Kate. You… don't have to watch."

"Yes I do." She argued, her voice firm in this. "It's who I am. I'm your Watcher. I have to. I know your quirk about needing history being complete and accurate. And so I will do you the honor of making sure that yours is just that."

Reid looked startled for a moment, but then, finally, he smiled. It didn't reach his dead eyes, but it was warm nonetheless. "Thank you, Kate. I do appreciate that. And please… when it's over… I've left a letter with some… final instructions on the table in the cabin."

"We'll see it taken care of." Methos assured him. Reid nodded his thanks, then turned and walked across the beach towards Duncan MacLeod, and Methos moved to stand beside Kate.

"I do have one question." The woman murmured, and Methos looked at her. "This island is Holy Ground… taking his head here is forbidden."

"True." Methos nodded. "But where does the land end?"

"… At the water?"

"Yes." Methos nodded. And they watched as MacLeod, now barefoot, turned and stepped into the water. Reid followed. The pair waded out into the frigid river until the water was just below the knees, and then MacLeod turned and faced Spencer Reid.

Reid said nothing. He slowly dropped to his knees, then lifted the black cord from around his neck. He slid his wedding band onto his finger and tied the cord, still strung through the ring, around his wrist to keep it where it belonged.

"Are you ready?" MacLeod asked, his voice gentle. Reid looked him in the eye, and nodded.

"Yes…" He said, and smiled. And this one reached his eyes. "MacLeod." The man looked at him. "… Thank you."

And MacLeod nodded, took firm hold of his Katana, raising it up over Spencer Reid.

Reid fell back to sit on his heels and threw his hands behind him, leaning back to brace his weight on his hands on the rocks beneath the surface of the water. He closed his eyes and his head fell back, his hair cascading into the dark waters as he bared his white throat to the man standing over him.

Kate steeled herself. For a moment, they were frozen in time, MacLeod with his sword raised, muscles tense, body poised to unleash the final blow, and Reid, body completely relaxed as he was overcome with relief. He didn't have to fight anymore… the pain was over.

"Be at peace, Spencer Reid."

"I will."

And firelight from the bonfire flashed off of the blade as the Katana fell, a great sweeping blow. It was clean, and there was no pain.

With a soft splash, it was done.

The Highlander stood where he was, his blade dipped within the water, and he stared down at the thin body that had gone limp, and was slowly drifting to float on the surface. And then, the window blew. The mist swirled around. And the body began to emit a soft, ethereal glow. Then ripples spread out from the body, as if it were trembling and quaking. And then the water began to bubble… first just small plumes, but soon, the entire area surrounding them looked as though it were boiling fiercely.

MacLeod closed his eyes and let his head fall back as he felt the hairs on his arms stand up and his skin tingle. He raised his arms out to his sides, one hand still clutching the deadly blade, and a gust of wind passed over him. And then his mind was spinning with numbers and facts and statistics, and passages of ancient poetry… a small bolt of lightning leapt out of the water from the body, reaching up and contacting the end of his sword. Then another larger one, arching up and over him, then down again, forking out and striking the backs of both of his hands. He jerked and a grunt of shock was torn from him. And then he was overcome by the images of bodies… mutilated corpses of victims, and the cruel eyes of the men who had committed the crimes… secrets of fouled terrorist attacks stunned him, and then his mind's eyes was filled with faces… Several faces… but one came to the forefront, and with it, a rush of joy and love… and MacLeod knew that this was Aaron…

On shore, Methos and Kate watched silently as lightning blasted out of the water in a great volatile storm. They could heard MacLeod's ragged howl over the wind and the wild lightening, and they could hear Spencer's cries of anguish over his loss within his voice.

MacLeod fell to his knees in the water, overcome by the explosive transference of power and knowledge that was taking place. The water seemed to burst around him, making a spiraling path upwards along a blindingly white bolt of lightning that seemed to have come from the sky itself. And then the water exploded outwards, and a fine rain came down across Kate and Methos.

Then the wind died down and the water calmed.

The Quickening was over.

* * *

The three sat in silence on the sofas, staring into the crackling fire after MacLeod had finished telling what had happened. Garcia finally broke the silence.

"Thank you." She whispered. "For freeing him."

MacLeod nodded.

"… You said… that he left a letter?"

"With final instructions." Methos said with a nod. "He left us his wallet, and instructions to tell you what he did, and why." She nodded.

"What happened to his… body?" She asked after a moment.

"He left instructions for that, too." MacLeod said softly. "He built his own pyre on that beach. And we burned him there, as he wanted to be."

"And… his ashes?" Garcia choked out.

"I have them." MacLeod said. "And that is where I need you." She lifted her eyes and looked at him. "Where is Aaron Hotchner's grave?"

* * *

One week later, Garcia was allowing Methos to help her out of the black Thunderbird. MacLeod waited for them to come around the car and then he walked beside them, a box in his hands. They walked across the rain dampened grass. And they found that they were not alone. A small group of people were standing around a headstone, waiting.

Garcia broke away from Methos and went to greet an aging Derek Morgan. She rested her head on his chest as he embraced her, tears in his eyes. A moment later, she was sharing hugs and tears with JJ and Emily, and Ashley… She turned to face two tall middle aged men; Jack and Henry. Their eyes were red as they fought back the tears.

"I took care of it, Aunt Penny." Jack murmured. Garcia turned and looked at the headstone, and the fresh carving that had been inscribed upon it. She was unable to hold back her sob at the words. But she nodded her approval, and then looked down at the small hole that had been dug into the earth over the grave of Aaron Hotchner.

No one said anything as Duncan MacLeod stepped forward, and lifted the lid on the wooden box. Ashes floated up into the air and disappeared on the wind. He knelt and carefully tilted the box, pouring the ashes into the small hole. A slight plume blossomed out of the hole, and the remains of Spencer Reid went to rest with the man he had loved, and to float away to regions unknown…

Then, MacLeod reached into his pocket and pulled out a tarnished ring. He let it sit in his palm for a moment, and then let it fall into the hole atop the ashes.

Tears in his eyes, Henry knelt and brushed the moist soil into the hole, filling it. He pat it down, and then accept the wreath that Jack passed to him, and laid it upon the resting place of his Godfather.

Then he stood and stepped back, and the small group of people stood in silent remembrance of two men who were inseparable.

Finally, Henry wrapped an arm around his mother and guided her away, weeping. Jack followed a moment later, assisting Emily, with Ashley at their heels. And finally, Morgan guided Garcia into turning and walking away towards the car, where his son was waiting for his father and Aunt Penny.

Methos and MacLeod watched them all go without a word. They remained a while longer, and then silently, Methos turned and headed back to the car.

But MacLeod took another few minutes. He stared at the grave, part of him sad, part of him happy, and part of him envious. But he knew that ultimately, Spencer had the right of it. But it was his destiny to fight on.

He turned and walked away, his head held high, the Highlander to the end.

And he left behind the remains of two lovers, and the headstone with its inscription.

* * *

_Aaron Hotchner _

_and  
_

_Spencer Reid_

_May your reunion be so joyous that your _

_happy tears are enough to flood the world ten-fold_.

* * *

Please review!


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